In the deepest ruins of the Blighted Vale, where even monsters feared to tread, a castle rose from blackened earth. Its walls bled shadow, and at its center, seated upon a throne of bone and steel, sat Malveth.
Her eyes—crimson and cold—gazed down at the group of frightened orphans kneeling before her.
"Stand," she commanded, her voice neither cruel nor kind—just absolute.
The children obeyed, trembling. They had been hunted, starved, thrown away by nobles and city guards alike. And yet… the Demon Lord took them in.
One girl, barely ten, stepped forward. "W-Why… why us?"
Malveth descended from her throne, crouching before the child. Her clawed gauntlet gently touched the girl's cheek.
"Because you were forgotten," she said. "And I never forget what is mine."
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A Different Kind of Savior
Malveth wasn't a tyrant. Not to them. To her soldiers, her army, her children—she was a mother, a god, and a monster all at once.
She trained them herself:
The swift were taught to kill without sound.
The clever were taught to set traps using magic-infused runes.
The broken were given blades sharper than their pain.
Each night, she told them stories—not of heroes, but of the world that betrayed them. And each night, more children came.
Some called it a cult.
She called it salvation.
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The Whisper in Her Soul
And yet, even as her kingdom grew, Malveth dreamed of someone. A shadow. A name she had never heard, but one that haunted her still.
In her chambers, alone, she stared into the mirror. Not to admire herself, but to search.
> "Why do I feel empty when I win… and full when I bleed?"
She touched the mirror, and for a moment—just a flicker—Serian's face appeared, eyes wide with fear. Then gone.
Malveth staggered back.
"No," she growled, clutching her chest. "I am whole. I am… myself."
But deep down, she knew something was wrong. Something broken.
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Seeds of Fanatic Love
Later, as the moon bled red over her citadel, Malveth watched her army of orphans train—boys and girls, teeth bared, blades raised, loyal to her.
One of her generals approached.
"My Lady. The children asked if you'd tell a story again."
Malveth nodded. She walked to the bonfire, sat among them, and whispered a tale of a god who fell from heaven. Of a soul broken into pieces.
And as the children listened with wide eyes, Malveth spoke softer, as if to herself.
> "When I find him… the one who broke me… I will not kill him.
I will make him love me."
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Far away, the real MC shivered—feeling a strange warmth tugging at his soul. A pull from something deep, dark, and painfully familiar.
And in a dream that night, Serian saw her—a girl with blood-red eyes, whispering:
> "We are not enemies… we are halves."
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